As we gazed up at the cliffs from which this wonderful structure had been hewn, we noticed a number of green parrots fluttering about or clinging to the sheer walls of rock—like vivid green flashes of light upon the cold stone. Down in the court a number of extraordinarily large-sized wasps came buzzing about us. They looked formidable enough but did not do any damage, though their obtrusion did not facilitate the process of a sketching against time.
Besides the Kylas, which is said to date from about 750–850 A.D., there were a number of other and smaller temples, cut in the face of the cliff at intervals extending along the hill on each side of the Kylas. The most ancient is supposed to date from 200 B.C. and the latest from the thirteenth century A.D. A guide on the spot showed us several Buddhist temples and these were much more cave-like in character. One had very fine massive carved and fluted columns.
The second temple we saw suggested in its plan and form an apsidal basilica, and in detail wooden structure, the roof being carved in close ribs, curved to the form of a pointed arch, supported by a horizontal cornice and columns set very close together. A colossal figure of the seated Buddha filled the view at the end of the nave, but there was an ambulatory behind it. The figure was painted a dark red with white drapery and black hair, the eyes, with strongly marked white and black pupils, had a fixed stare which carried the whole length of the Temple.
The next temple visited, also Buddhistic, was much plainer, and was being supported by new buttresses of masonry to prevent the cliff from falling. The third was larger but also quite plain and square cut, the structure of the pillars and cornice being again on timber principles; but none approached the Kylas in beauty and interest.
The village of Ellora lay on the plain among trees about a mile and a half away from the foot of the cliff. Our guide pointed out some Jain temples there half hidden in masses of foliage and suggested a walk there, but by this time, between 10 and 11 o’clock in the morning, the sun was very powerful and the heat great, and as there was no shade till the village was reached and we had to get back to our bungalow, we gave it up and climbed the hill again. As we left the Kylas a large and most picturesque group of natives were squatted outside the gateway having a sort of picnic, a day out with their wives and numerous children, and they were wandering all over the temple chattering and laughing as they examined the sculptures and seemingly enjoying themselves much. They gazed at us curiously as we passed, as at some strange animals from an unknown country.
M. Dauvergne took some photographs of the caves, while I managed to get a coloured sketch of the Kylas, and a few notes.
We found the return journey to Daulatabad rather easier, being mostly downhill, though it was so precipitous in places that it was a marvel our poor ponies kept on their legs. We met many natives on the road, both Mohammedans and Hindus, as well as herds of goats, and asses with sacks of grain slung across their backs, black sheep and zebu carts.
We reached Daulatabad station about the middle of the day, or early afternoon, and were fortunate enough (owing to the language at the command of our friend who explained our wants) to get quite an excellently cooked and nicely served tiffin in the waiting-room.
There were interesting native figures about the station, and a group of figures at the village well not far off, where I got a sketch of a Hindu girl in a blue sari with a water jar on her head. She had a little round mark (Buddhist) like a red seal on her forehead, and her name was Hashuma.
We got a train about 5.30 back to Munmad arriving there soon after 9 at night. After dining at the station we bade farewell to our friend M. Dauvergne, who was travelling on to Bareilly, far up in the north-western provinces to join his shooting companion. Our train from Bombay did not leave until 3 A.M., but sleep was impossible owing to the noise, although we had a waiting-room to ourselves. It was only the usual conversazione which is carried on at every Indian station by the natives who throng the platforms, often waiting all night for a train, squatting in groups and keeping up a continual stream of talk. We were relieved when a faithful coolie announced the arrival of our train and carried in our bags. We had a compartment to ourselves for the most part until nearing Bombay, our only fellow-passengers being at different times a very quiet Hindu, and a British officer of the Royal Scots who did not travel far. But, before we got in, the carriage became crowded with every variety of costume, Parsee and Hindu merchants getting in for Bombay, until we were quite full up and—oh! so hot. Glad we were to get in at last, but not till noon—the hottest time of day—feeling rather fagged after our long journey. The heat in Bombay is very oppressive even in the so-called cool season. We generally lived in a temperature of about 88°, this in the dining-room being mitigated by electric fans; but it is always a relief when the sun declines, and a drive in the cool of the evening is delightful.